


Rhyme & Reason

by MilkPlague



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: 1 sociopath, 2 psychopaths, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, BUT DONT GET UR HOPES UP, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Crime, Dark, Dark Comedy, Death, Edward Nygma Oswald Cobblepot and Jerome Valeska, Eventual Romance, Everything Hurts, F/M, Gotham, Gotham City Police Department, Graphic Description of Corpses, MC being good friends with our favorite murderous boyband trio, Mad Scientists, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Torture, Murder, Mystery, Not Canon Compliant, Oswald is less-ish of a jerk, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Soft Edward Nygma, Soft Oswald Cobblepot, Stalker, Torture, Villains, Violence, and a partridge in a pear tree, dc, hero x villain sort of thing, i hope it tears you apart, i hope you die reading this, said with love ofc, well kinda canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkPlague/pseuds/MilkPlague
Summary: Had anyone told Sunny Graves that her entire life would change in the course of one bad night, she would have laughed. But that's all it took. One Night.One night and everything she knew and loved was gone in a breath. In the end, she was never the same.Now a new villain is laying waste to the streets of Gotham, heroes and criminals alike, and Sunny believes she /may/ be the only one who can stop them. Maybe it's the hero complex, or the guilt to right a wrong, but in the end she'll learn you can't always go in alone. No matter the loss||updates every thursday!|| edit: this is a lie. i actually update way more often.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 13





	1. It's Always Sunny in Gotham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get something STRAIGHT. If I had a dime for every time I cared to consider what the canon-timeline had to say about my fic, I'd be poorer then a French peasant during the reign of Marie Antoinette. 
> 
> Therefore, friends and enemies.  
> The following Fanfiction you have so carelessly decided to read pays VERY little to Gotham's canon timeline and events. Thank you.
> 
> ........................................... ** _IMPORTANT: This fic //approximately// takes place around season 3_**...........................................

The smell of burnt hair filled the room as the girl's head hung low and tired; exhausted from the unending mental torture. Her mouth was dry from the spasms of screaming and her lungs ached from the strain. And death? _Oh..._

Every hour it was beginning to look more and more tempting. Like a pristine slice of chocolate cake. How it hurt to try and grasp for it. It felt so far away. So— _untouchable_. 

" _Please......_ " She croaked again in protest. "Please....sto-stop..... _please.._ "

Silence.

 _He_ didn't respond.

"Please. I don't know what you want from me, but you can have it! You can have anything you want." She hoarsely cried as the sound of the machine slowly powering up again began to grievously ring in the air. The girl choked on another fit of sobs as she fearfully peered up beyond her frayed hair to see him turning the dial again; higher than before this time. Her face drained paler—if that was even possible. She already looked like a corpse at this point.

"Please, please, _please,_ " She began to frantically stammer, wishing she had the energy to cry in her final moments. " _Please don't do this to me–_ "

The man looked down at her from beyond his ominous black goggles with a sinister grin of pleasure. "Oh..." He mumbled. "But it's so much _fun!_ " he paused to lean in; his breath grazing the sensitive skin on her ear. "Isn't it _–_ "

" _Sunny!_ "

Blinking out of a trance, the girl glanced around a few times before pulling out an earbud and turning to gaze up at the towering figure standing beside her. His face was unmistakable. Like a well-known painting, she'd recognize it anywhere.

"Well, well, well....Jim- _mc'flippen_ -Gordon is it?" She smiled before biting into the ham-sub sandwhich occupying her dominant hand. "Afternoon"

"Afternoon. Enjoying the show?" He sarcastically remarked before nodding his head towards the drug bust that was currently taking place across the street from the curbside she leisurely sat at. It was a loud commotion—cops and detectives littering the premise at every corner—shouting orders and commands in every direction. _Ah!_ There was nothing like a little morning crime activity in Gotham to get the blood pumping. 

" _Always_ " the girl laughed before pulling a greasy, black strand of hair from her eyes. "Where's Harvey?"

" _Ah_ you know him," Jim sighed in reply. "Shouting at the suspects."

"Classic Bullock." She smiled. "It never gets old"

"I wish it would sometimes." He chuckled in resent before leaning down to sit beside her. "How has retirement been?"

" _Ohhhh,_ ya know," The girl shrugged before taking another bite of her sandwich. "Sucks like a vacuum" 

Jim smiled in sympathy. "I'm sorry about that Sunny." He gravelly replied, gaining a look of surprise from her. Despite the girl's best efforts, it was obvious the tone in her voice was both tired and forlorn. There was no doubt she must've been losing sleep over the whole ordeal, _Yet_ , here she sat. The seemingly same old Sunny; jokes and all.

"About what?" 

"About Essen retiring you" He slowly replied. "I...........I know it wasn't easy"

Sunny shrugged. "I don't think about it too often" She told him before readjusting the circular, black sunglasses sitting on her face. "It's not like I can do anything, so there's no worth in worrying"

"I know. It's just _–_ " Jim paused to wipe the corners of his mouth with a frustrated sigh. "I know you didn't want to leave."

"Your right, I didn't" She repeated with pursed lips. "But like I said. No point in worrying about something you can't change"

"Well, you're braver than I" He admitted.

" _Oh?_ "

"Last time I got put on parole, I wouldn't stop bitching about it until the commissioner gave me back my job" Jim grinned, watching as his friend restrained a giggle before keeling over, attempting not to choke on the food in her mouth.

"Oh Jim!" Sunny smirked before slapping him heartily on the shoulder. "You always know how to make my Thursday's a little brighter, don't you" She joked before the two of them turned to watch Detective Bullock strut across the street towards them, a look of satisfaction painted on his old, smug face.

"Hello Sunny" He politely greeted her with a tip of his hat. "Jim—Charlie's going to have the two thugs sent back to the office for questioning so we can figure out where the other three ran off. One of them is saying they're dead but the other guy says they're not. Essen thinks they're trying to confuse us, but you know what I think," Harvey paused to point an accusing finger at him. "I think one of them knows something the other doesn't!"

"Sounds eventful" Sunny interjected.

"As eventful as retirement?"

"Oh, piss off Bullock" She laughed as Jim had slapped his partner condemningly on the leg.

"C'mon Bullock. Be nice" He scolded, shaking his head in humorous disbelief. 

"Fine, fine. I'm just kidding" Bullock argued in defense before turning back to Sunny with a friendlier expression. "You know I'm kidding right?"

"Always, Harvey." She smiled before wrapping her unused earbud around the back of her ear. 

"You look well though"

"Thank you" She chirped before resting her free hand against her sunglasses. "Do you like them? The glasses? They're new"

"Very Jon Lennon" Jim fondly commented before slowly standing to his feet, watching as Charlie had finally exited the building; two other officers following behind as they guided the arrested thugs towards the police cars. "Ah, well. That's our que i'm afraid" He admitted before reaching down into his pocket to retrieve a wad of crumbled newspapers clippings. "These are for you by the way"

" _Jiiiiim_ " Sunny blithely groaned before reaching up and taking them between her slightly mayo-coated fingers. "Job offer clippings?"

"I'm just trying to look out for you, you know. I know you haven't had time to search for a new job since you've been so busy with all the-" Jim paused to wave his hands around, almost half expecting to catch the word mid-air. "Treatments"

"Oh yeah. I heard about that by the way!" Bullock cut in. "How's the therapy?"

"Both intriguing _and_ seemingly useless, thank you" Sunny smirked before concisely leafing through the assortment of clippings; tossing a few aside onto the cement while keeping others in hand. "Not bad" She commented before sticking the rest in her empty pocket. 

"So you'll start searching then?" Jim optimistically prodded. 

"I'll _consider_ it" She finished with a frown. "Don't get your hopes up Gordon"

"I'm not, I'm not" He retorted, his arms raised to plead for innocence. "I'll see you later then Sunny"

"See ya Sunny!" Bullock smiled her way as the two men turned to leave. "Take it easy!"

_"Take it easy..."_ _His_ voice rang; the tone resonating harshly in the back of her mind as the girl's head swayed side to side. Saliva dribbling from between her lips, unable to summon a sound or plea. " _Take it easy_.....you'll be _fiiiine_ " He mockingly smiled as the machine began to power up again; full throttle. "It'll only hurt for a moment and then this'll _ALLL_ be over!" He paused to sing before his bloodied gloves tightened the screws in her head. "Won't that be nice?"

The hum of the machine had suddenly overtaken his voice, but he refused to let his final comment go unheard.

"Won't that be nice, _Sunny???_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanfic updates every Thursday! :)  
> _________________________________  
> \---Rhyme & Reasons rule of thumb---  
> If I mentioned it happened, it happened. If I didn't, then it doesn't exist.  
> \-----------------------------


	2. A Riddled Turn of Events: and even I don't know what that means

_Burnt hair. Beg. Silence. Torture_. Repeat. _Burnt hair. Beg. Silence. Torture._ Repeat. _Burnt hair. Beg. Silence. Torture._ R _—_

_"–What's it like Sunny?"_

The air went still, there was no reply.

The girl took in a slow and hesitant breath; hands shaking now. 

_"I'm sorry—what?" She nervously inquired._

_"The memories, Sunny"_

Blinking her eyes several times, the girl slowly turned to face her Therapist, Imogen Strohdach, who was sitting across the room from her, wearing quite the extravagant outfit today, _per usual_. A crimson cardigan, a bulky jade necklace, and hoop earrings large enough for someone to hang themselves with. Which _—funnily enough—_ was exactly what Sunny wanted to do right now. She absolutely detested these kinds of questions, _and not to be dramatic_ , but she would've rather been shot dead with a diamond studded, pink glock then have to answer it.

"The memories?" Sunny jeered before tiredly leaning her head to stare out the window, seeing as noon was just beginning to creep up on the monotonous looking city. "They're alright..." 

"Is that a lie?"

Sunny smiled. " _Maybe_ " She dismissively shrugged before watching her therapist give a long sigh of disappointment. 

"Miss Graves," Imogen firmly pronounced as Sunny cringed in disgust. _Oh_ , how she hated the sound of her surname. "Therapy is a two sided relationship. I need you to be honest with me just as much as _I_ am honest with _you._ " 

_There it was._

The good ole' fashion, _'you need to be honest with me or you'll never get better'_ lecture.

Sunny clenched her fist, trying to hide the clear look of resent in her face. How many times had she heard this speech already? 5 times? 6 times? She lost count after the first few dozen. Her therapist on the other hand never seemed to forget about reminding her that she was still trying to recover from her little......... _whoopsie_ – _daisy_. Not that it was Sunny's fault of course, but at the end of the day, it was nobody's problem but her own.

She truthfully knew deep in her heart that Imogen was only trying to help her, but she couldn't help but come to hate these therapy sessions. It was just a tiring, non-stop reminder of what she was trying to hide from. What she was trying to forget. What she was _trying_ to fight.

After the long silence, Imogen must have noticed the hesitance in Sunny's body language and decided to take it upon herself to change the topic. She knew that despite her client's seemingly head-strong demeanor, they had limits even _she_ wasn't mentally aware of. 

"How are your eyes healing?" Imogen asked instead.

Sunny smirked, pushing her dark sunglasses back up her nose again. " _Stingy—_ if that's a word" 

"Did the doctor mention any physical improvements"

"Not much. Just that the internal bleeding has stopped, so now they're getting......"She paused to sigh in dread. ".... _darker_ "

"I see" Her therapist mumbled before turning her attention back to the notepad she held in hand, jotting down several more sentences. This was the part that Sunny usually went back to droning again; her eyes watching the large speckles of lint float through the air like tiny, little seagulls soaring over an unrestrained sea. It was distracting but enjoyable. She often thought that one of these days, she'd have to take the time to visit Gotham's boardwalk to watch the untamable ocean churn for herself. She couldn't even begin to fathom how nice it must be to listen to those gentle, frothy waves toss and turn for hours on end. It was probably incomparable to the music tracks she had on her I-Pod, always getting interrupted by 1000 decibel advertisements that advertised music without advertisements. Annoying _AND_ Ironic.

"Alright Sunny!" Imogen finally spoke again before she tore out a page from her notepad and handed it to the girl. "You seem to be doing fine. Just keep up those therapy exercises I taught you last week and make sure you're consistently practicing your coordination. It seems like it's getting better! How have you been handling it lately?"

"Well—other than the fact that I still trip here and there, I'm learning the slow waltz." Sunny smiled as she took the paper and shoved it into her pocket with Jim's newspaper clippings.

"Good to know!" Imogen approved before looking down at the large, expensive GaHite watch wrapped around her wrist. "Well then. I suppose that concludes our session for this evening. I'll see you next week, Miss Graves"

Sunny wrinkled her nose again, hating the way those words sounded in her ears. It was just another reason to keep her music playing during their long, boring sessions. "Same time then?" She managed to reply.

"It never changes"

"Great! I'll see you then doc." Sunny thoughtfully waved before sticking in both her earbuds and allowing the chirpy tune of _'Here Comes the Sun'_ to swoon from the speakers, making the world around her simply—— _disappear_.

* * *

At the end of each day, Sunny resorts to being a regular at the Gotham Museum of Art and History. It was almost like a sort of— _hobby_ of her's now.

She'd come, buy a ticket, say hello to George the security guard, and then hurry off towards the art exhibit where she would usually spend the majority of her sojourn. Today though, something was different, _for two reasons_.

One, _and much to her glee_ , there was a new art donation. It'd been displayed all by itself on a massive, sad white wall next to the sculptures. _'Glum Mornings'_ by Horace Archambault, it was called. The canvas was a perfect circle, dressed in deep purples and soft yellows of all kinds; the two colors practically dancing with each other. Or maybe they were having an argument? It was hard to tell since they were so complemental.

That was only one of the two things. The second thing was the unfamiliar visitor at the art exhibit Sunny met for the first time that night.

 _Now_ , you might ask yourself why a visitor at an art exhibit would be strange because they are open to the public, but you see, Sunny didn't come to the Museum because she particularly _liked_ art, _(or museums for that matter)_ , but more so because it was quiet—especially at this hour of the night. She always made it a point to only visit the Gotham Museum after 8 because that was when it was quietest, she'd noticed. So you could imagine her surprise when she turned the corner to find a stranger standing in front of Horace Archambault's, 'Glum Mornings', admiring it's pristine use of color.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" They'd spoken to her.

Sunny pulled an earbud out as she approached both the stranger and the painting, surprised to have been addressed by them. Honestly, she wasn't the _smoothest_ when it came to talking to unfamiliar faces, so least to say, it was quite the phenomenon.

"It is, isn't it?" She slowly replied before studying the curvatures and streaks of paint.

Despite the piece's name, 'Glum Mornings' didn't look very much like a glum morning—more so the colors you'd see after getting hit in the face with a metal baseball-bat just after waking up, which she guessed, would indeed make it a _very_ glum morning, but modern art was such a toss in the dark at times. "Do you think it looks like a glum morning?" She decided to ask them.

The stranger briefly smiled, still facing the canvas. "Yes" They replied before suddenly bending over to stare at the picture from a different angle. Sunny peered down at them in concern. "But only upside down"

The girl furrowed her brows, taking out the other earbud as she went to stand next to them. 

"Really?" She puzzledly inquired before bending over as well to see what they were looking at, and to her amazement, the stranger had been right! Now that she was looking at the painting with blood rushing to her brain, she could make out the bend of a dining table supporting a sad looking mug of coffee and an even sadder looking person leaning against it, seemingly crying. Sunny wondered what the person in the picture may have been crying about. Maybe it was because they'd been painted into such a sad looking scene that was titled, _'Glum Mornings'_ by Horace Archambault. How remorseful that would be.

"Wow!" Sunny gaped as she stood right-side up again. " _That's amazing!_ What a crazy way to paint a picture!"

"Oh no. You're mistaken," The stranger enthusiastically digressed, a geeky smile on their face. "It wasn't painted like that. The museum just put it up the wrong way."

" _Oh._ " Sunny awkwardly laughed, feeling a few of her braincell's die at the obvious realization. 

"Though, painting upside-down is a real technique! It was actually invented by Georg Baselitz." They hurriedly added, seeing the look of embarrassment on her face. "Did you know—as a teenager—he got suspended from art school for attempting this new technique because he'd gained a reputation as a provocateur? Everyone thought that painting upside-down was ridiculous. Scandalous even!"

" _Wow!_ " Sunny marveled. "I had no idea—That's pretty neat-o"

"Neat-o indeed!" They grinned; their voice laced with obvious passion for the subject. "It's a pleasant painting though, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, but admittedly, not quite my cup of tea"

"Oh?" They questioned with raised brows.

"Modern art is nice and all, but it can get a little repetitive to look at, ya know?"

"Actually! _"_ The stranger quickly corrected. "Horace Archambault's piece here is an example of Contemporary art. Modern art only refers to art pieces painted roughly between the 1860s & 1970s."

Sunny laughed. "You sure know a lot about art, huh?" 

"All forms of art are an incredibly fascinating topic of discussion, I must admit!" They smiled.

Sunny smiled too, looking the newcomer in the eyes with a slight sense of admiration. She couldn't help but feel slightly odd though trying to discuss a topic she didn't believe she was particularly knowledgeable about when this person seemed so thoroughly schooled on the whole matter. Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, she slowly opened her mouth to speak again.

" _Well_ ——" Sunny gradually began. "I've always sort of thought that, _Contemporary art_ , usually just looks like blobs of color and lines that make no sense, but then the artist will title it something like, _'the secret to the universe'_ and then sell if for half a million dollars," She coyly smiled before turning to face the stranger again, watching as they reached up to readjust the pair of glasses sitting on their nose. She inadvertently did the same; copying them as she went to push her sunglasses to her forehead.

"I'd agree!" They confidently replied, gaining a look of relief from the girl. "Contemporary art is defined as pieces of dynamic subjectivity combined of materials, methods, and concepts that are suppose to challenge the boundaries of modern theories and Ideas," He happily elaborated. "But, tell me" He paused to grin, studying the circular, black opticals that covered Sunny's eyes. "If Contemporary art doesn't quite suit your fancy, do you have a liking to any other renditions of art? Surely there must be something you like?"

Sunny smirked before balancing her hands on her hips as she looked up towards the ceiling, wondering if she'd find her answer there. She hated to admit it, but she wasn't very well-informed on the whole topic of art. Of course she knew plenty of basic information like who were some of the greatest artists to ever live and the differences between certain types of art, but who didn't? It didn't really matter if she knew all that, the point was that she'd never really taken the time to consider if she actually _liked_ any of it. Then again, she hated to leave him hanging—it felt wrong not to answer such a simple question. _I mean, c'mon Sunny_ , She thought frantically to herself. _You're at an art museum! You're telling me you've never considered which types you like?_

Taking in a slow breath, she finally answered. "Baroque!——I like Baroque art the most'' She smiled, entirely honest with him. Sunny really _did_ like Baroque art a great deal because it was probably the only kind of art she knew the most about, but now that she really thought about it, she also did like it because she found it both entrancing and classy. Baroque art pieces usually always featured an elaborate and complex painted scene of people, who more than often, were half or entirely naked. "it's a shame though," She suddenly added mid-thought. "because the Museum only has one piece of baroque artwork" 

"Is that so?"

"Sadly." Sunny sighed as she clasped her hands tightly behind her back. "The museum used to have more of it, but slowly by slowly, more pieces kept getting stolen. After that–" She paused to readjust her sunglasses. "Nobody was interested in donating baroque art. That's why the majority of this stuff is contemporary because only a psychopath would waste their time stealing contemporary art" Sunny grinned, watching as the man slowly did the same.

"I'm created and loved by one—hated by the rest—scorned and derivative. What am I?" 

"Are........you asking me a riddle?' Sunny questioned with raised brows.

"Do you like riddles?"

"Well. They're interesting! Can't say I'm very good at them though" She admitted.

"Does that mean you'll give up?"

Sunny thought hard for a moment. _I'm created and loved by one_ — _hated by the rest_ — _scorned and derivative?_ What on earth could that be? This was probably one of the many reasons Sunny tended to dislike riddles, not because they weren't fun, but because of how obvious yet ambiguous they were. I mean, trying to get a specific answer out of one small sentence of vague description—the answer could literally be anything?

"I guess." Sunny finally replied, watching as his face lit up with glee.

"Bad art" He quickly answered. "I'm created and loved by one—hated by the rest. Bad art is usually always loved by the artist alone, but not the audience. That's what makes it scorned and derivative" He explained with a wide grin.

Sunny smiled, laughing softly at the sudden realization. _Of course!_ How simultaneously obvious yet ambiguous.

"That was a good riddle" She mused. "Do you like riddles too?"

"I love them! I find them to be a great way to exercise your brain's ability to figure out certain things based on vague descriptions of them. It's even better when you make up your own"

"For sure," Sunny happily smirked. "I'm still quite bad at them though"

"Well. Based on my colleagues reactions of my riddles—it's an acquired taste"

"Only if you're decently clever I suppose" 

"And the baroque art piece?" He suddenly inquired. Sunny looked him in the eyes again, watching him lean his weight from one leg to the other. "You said the museum only has one of them. Could you show it to me?"

Sunny slowly grinned in surprise, feeling her heartbeat quicken in pace as she put in one of her earbuds again. "I'd love too!" She smiled. "Come 'ere"

Quickly turning, Sunny began to mildly jog down the halls of the museum, leading her new acquaintance to the quieter, darker section of the art exhibit where she stopped to look up, a wide grin slowly forming across her face. 

"There she is" Sunny proudly announced as she gestured towards the brightly illuminated art piece hanging from the wall. "The creation of Adam! _A literal classic_ "

"It's beautiful...." He replied in awe as he came up close beside her to study the extravagant piece of work. 

" _Sure is!_ It's just a too bad it's a fake," Sunny inwardly sighed. "That's probably why no one's bothered to steal it."

"Why's that?" 

"Well—" She slowly continued. "forged artwork is pretty and all, but they're usually worthless because they aren't an original. They're just made to look like it"

"How do you know it's a fake though?" He curiously asked her.

"Oh! That's easy!" Sunny smiled as she lifted her hand again to gesture to one of the characters in the painting; a naked man with short, curly brown hair and a muscular body. He was gracefully laying across the earth, his hand calmly outstretched towards God who was reaching back from the heavens, surrounded by angels. "See that naked dude?" She asked him, referring to the man laying across the earth. "That's Adam, sans the name _'The Creation of Adam'_. But you see his eyes?" She stated, pointing towards the dark blue pigment his eyes had been painted with. "It's the wrong eye color. If you look at a picture of it online, you can see that his eyes are suppose to be brown, not dark blue." She proudly smiled as the stranger did the same, looking at her impressed.

"That's amazing!"

"What is?"

"That you noticed it was a fake by the eye color"

Sunny shrugged. "Not really" She painfully admitted. "Most baroque art wasn't very colorful, especially when it came to eye color. The blue just made it a ridiculously obvious forgery, but it's still pretty nice, isn't it?"

"Truly" He smiled in return.

"Even if it is a fake, I don't really mind. Just as long as I get to look at it every day." Sunny sighed as she slowly stepped back to sit down on one of the museum's leather chaise lounges. "I'd die the day this piece gets stolen. It's the only good thing in this whole exhibit" She smirked.

"I agree" The stranger replied as he went to sit beside her. "Your taste and knowledge of art is truly impeccable"

"Thank you!" Sunny sheepishly responded, surprised someone as seemingly smart as him thought _she_ was, _'knowledgeable'_ —and about art no less? "I just come here WAY too often for my own good. All these museum visits are going to start sucking my bank account dry" She laughed as the stranger watched her with a look of appreciation. Maybe it was just the echoes in the museum, but her laughter was like music. Soft, gentle music.

"May I ask you something?" He suddenly spoke as Sunny looked back into his eyes, smiling.

"Yeah. Go at it. Shoot"

"What belongs to you but others use it more than you do?" _Another riddle!_

Sunny furrowed her brows looking up towards the artfully carved ceiling for answers once again. Humming to herself, she repeated the riddle several times in her brain, trying to see it from another point of view much like he did when he had bent over to stare at 'Glum Mornings' to see it correctly.

" _Uhhhhhhhhmmmm....._ " Sunny stammered out loud. " _Money?_ I mean, I own money but I feel like everyone else uses it more then me." She laughed to herself.

"That's a very good guess, but I'm afraid it's the wrong answer. Want to try again?"

"Why not." She chirped before turning to look back at _'The Creation of Adam'_ , her brows arched deep in thought.

_What belongs to her but others use it more than her?_

The gears in her brain cranked long and hard, trying to come up with some reasonably clever explanation when the neurons in her brain had suddenly clicked.

"Oh! I've got it!" She exclaimed, jumping from her seat with an ecstatic grin. "My name!" She paused to stare at him, dead faced for a moment. Oh she got now. "Hot damn.....That was smooth as hell" She smirked.

"Thank you" He smiled back.

" _Sunny_ , by the way—" She told him before outstretching her hand for him to shake. "My name's Sunny"

"That's certainly a very bright name" He told her as he stood up to shake her hand.

"You do puns too?"

"I don't mean to" He admitted, watching her smile grow wider.

"And what about you then, _stranger?_ " She thoughtfully asked him. "What do you own but others use it more than you?"

The man standing before her smiled; clearly flattered by such craftiness.

"Edward Nygma" He politely informed her. " _My name_ —is Edward Nygma"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I physically could NOT wait till next Thursday to update, so uh........ "Happy Birthday!" everyone. Here's chapter two earlier then expected. Compliments of my OCD and enthusiasm to write consecutively without stopping until I drop dead and then proceed to regret my previous decision to write consecutively without stopping.  
> Mazel Tov lovely readers <3  
> _________________________________  
> ps. i really fricken' hope I captured some of Ed's personality well. :P cheers.


	3. Two Ugly Truths & One Pretty Lie

"No, no, no—It's _all_ wrong!" Oswald yelled as he theatrically waved his arms around for the band to stop. "You" He pointed towards the girl standing at the mic. "Your voice is awful. Get out"

The girl's eyes immediately filled with tears as she held her hands to her face, fleeing from the stage in loud sobs. Oswald rolled his eyes before pointing towards the bassist. "And you! Do you even know how to play that thing? Get out!"

The bassist grimaced at the comment as he lifted his instrument and quickly left the stage, no questions asked. "And you!" Oswald finally yelled, his finger directed at the pianist. The man held his breath, ready to shut the lid of the piano and depart with the others. "You can stay. You're decent." 

The pianist sighed inwardly to himself, holding his hand to his chest with relief. 

"Oh dear..." Oswald murmured as he crossed his arms, eyes squinted in thought. "Getting this entertainment band together is going to be a lot harder than I thought...."

_"Penguin!"_

The voice was obnoxiously uncanny. It couldn't be— _could it?_

Oswald immediately turned to stare at the familiar face now striding through the doors of the Iceberg Lounge. A tacky green sweater, white collar, and a pair of nerdy glasses? He'd recognize him anywhere.

" _Ed_ , my friend! I wasn't expecting you?" Oswald awkwardly laughed, somewhat surprised to see him. "What are you doing here? How are you?"

"Oh—most excellent! But more importantly, I'm here to tell you about the fantastic night I just had!" The taller man smiled in return, his face glowing with excitement. 

"Oh....uh, really!?" Oswald slowly replied, eyebrows raised in puzzlement, (which seemed to happen a lot when Edward was around). "You've never done that before?"

"Yes, well tonight was a very special night and I knew I had to tell someone, so why not you?" He simpered before marching past him and sitting down at the nearest booth, his hands drumming the top of the table in anticipation. "Ready to hear!?"

"Oh, uh—yeah! One sec," Oswald quickly replied as he turned to face the pianist still sitting on stage. "You can leave now, but come back tomorrow at 8, got it?"

The pianist hurriedly nodded his head, removing his hat as he slipped from the chair and scuttled off stage towards the door.

Oswald swung around again, facing his friend this time as the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "You were saying?"

Edward let out a careful, but nervous breath as he quickly straightened the collar of his sweater and looked Oswald in the eyes. " _I met a girl._ " He grinned.

The smile in Oswald's face instantly fell, replaced with a look of utter disgust and confusion. 

"You _what?_ " He puzzledly asked. Surely, he must've heard wrong.

"I met a girl" Edward carefully repeated.

"Oh God—— _not again Ed!_ " 

"No, no! You don't understand!" He shouted, jumping to his feet with his hands outstretched in protest. "This one's different"

"Yes Edward. That's how women work. They're all different; What's your point!?" Oswald grumbled before turning and limping towards the bar for another drink tonight. He was going to need one now because by the sound of it, good ole' Ed was just about ready to pull out the fancy 'why', 'when', 'who', and 'how argument. And when Ed argued, _he argued_.

"You don't seem very pleased? I thought you'd be more surprised"

"Oh I'm surprised alright!" Oswald sarcastically remarked. "Surprised you're really this _gullible!_ "

"Pardon?" Edward frowned, his body stiff with dismay.

"C'mon Ed! Are you _really_ going to take another trip down 'complicated relationship lane'? I thought you were over this"

"I am over this!"

"You're obviously not" Oswald smirked before pouring himself a tall glass of Madre De Dios wine to clear his head. Taking a sip, he lowered the chalice and stared Edward dead in the face, his lips twisted. "When I met you, you were the one who told me that _my_ love was my weakness! That it was my only downfall—— _You said_ , that it was because of my weakness that my mother _is_ —" His voice suddenly cracked as he stopped himself mid statement. He couldn't bear to say the last part. Not a penny in the world could.

Instead, he stared down into his glass, pouting in anger. " _You know what I mean!_ " He seethed.

" _Yes_ , but this is different" Ed prudently replied, his voice stern as ice. "This isn't for........ _love_ " He tried to explain, brows furrowed in thought. "This is for.............. _fascination._ "

"Oh fascination my finesse, Ed! This is a waste of time. Let me ask you something!" Oswald groaned as he set down his wine and hobbled back towards his friend till him and Edward were mere inches apart. Edward looked down at him, studying the purple crossover tie under his collar that had been oh-so-carefully pinned with a notably green pendant. He sighed now, challenging Oswald's cold glare. A shocking blue as always. "If that girl—that wonderfully _"magical"_ girl, whoever she may be—breaks your heart. Tell me this Ed, _and be honest._ " He sternly instructed. "Would you, or would you _not_ consider murdering her out of anger?"

Edward's mouth fell open, but no words came out as Oswald raised his brows in amusement, waiting for some kind of an answer.

"Of course not!" 

"You hesitated" He flatly stated.

"Because I was trying to register your moronic question. _Truly_ , I've never heard such insolence out of you."

"You're definitely lying"

"Let's not forget Oswald—" Ed loudly interrupted, pausing to lean in with disdain written all over his sallow face. "—Who was responsible for killing the last one because I'll tell you what! _It wasn't me_...."

"Yeah?" Oswald smiled, clearly sarcastic. "Well then, let's not forget who was responsible for killing the first one, _Ed_. Because it was certainly not me"

Edward frowned, dark and sinister, as his eyes clouded with anger. He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth, wishing he might strike Oswald across the head for that awfully daring comment. 

"I see I was mistaken for coming here..." He sneered under his breath, ready to leave before Oswald had stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"Edward" He calmly argued. "For your sake........please don't do this again."

"And why not?" He countered, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Who's stopping me?"

Oswald sighed in defeat as he removed his hand from Edward's chest and looked down at the floor. 

"How many times am I going to watch you repetitively tear your heart out until you give up and die?"

Edward grimaced as he straightened his sweater and stared Oswald grievously in the face. "I will do no such thing!" He hissed before brushing past him towards the door. "Good _evening,_ Cobblepot"

"Nice to see you too Ed! Take care now, my friend" Oswald sarcastically called as he watched him leave without another word.

Once he'd watched his lanky friend disappear around the corner, he sighed in the silence. _Truly it was a shame_ , he'd thought to himself before turning to face the stage, his hands crossed against his chest. "Sentimental Edward Nygma......here we go again." He murmured under his breath, studying the stage lights glisten against the vintage microphone without an owner.

* * *

Sunny tiredly pushed through the heavy door of her apartment, exhausted and rung out from the day. The walk from the museum felt as if it'd taken ten times longer than usual, but maybe that was just because she'd been walking slower lately. Coordination between her right and left leg, though was getting easier to manage, still felt somewhat..... _odd._

Shutting and locking the door behind her, she set her keys down and took a few steps into the open space in her living room and looked around. All the windows were still closed and blocked by the opaque, white shades that hung over them. 

Taking in a deep breath, she pulled out her I-pod and stared down at the song that was currently playing through the speakers. _'Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)'_ it read in bright, white font. Sunny squinted her eyes. She usually always liked to listen to this song, but it wasn't the mood she was going for right now. Swiping her finger carefully over the screen, reading the song titles as they passed by, she eventually paused to click on one in particular. _'Trouble'_ by Cage the Elephant. It was a favorite of hers and It never failed to shake her loose after a long day.

Rolling her head side to side, she slowly pushed her sunglasses back up again as she listened to the vibrations fill every inch of her body; from her head to the very tips of her toes. It was a comforting sound joined by a calm wave of singing that sent her body into movement. Sunny reached both hands towards the ceiling, feeling each vertebrae in her spine pop before she'd let them fall back down against her thighs.

The chorus was coming closer.

Sunny looked over her shoulder again at the non-existent company she had in her house before staring back at the empty wall behind her couches. Curling each of her fingers, she slowly bent downwards, allowing the tips of her fingernails to scrape the floor as she listened to the song's tempo continue to progress.

_Here it was._

Quickly standing, Sunny lifted her arms out in front of her as if to hold a beach ball that wasn't there before she balanced her weight on one leg and pushed off, sending her into a gentle but swift 180 in the middle of her living room.

She paused to rest, her arms still out in front of her as she leaned her foot down before doing it again, faster this time

Another full, and confident spin. The chorus was still going.

She paused, breathed, and did it again.

And again.

And again.

_And again._

Over and over—even when the chorus had long passed—until she finally tripped, breaking the hypnotizing pattern.

Her body hit the wooden floor with a loud thump as her I-pod clattered beside her, pulling both earbuds out as it'd slipped from her sweater's pocket.

Sunny sat there blankly now, squinting her eyes as her sunglasses had too fallen to the tip of her nose. She sighed, pushing them up again as she brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top of them as she listened to the remainder of the song ring from the music-player that sat beside her. The tune was coursing through the earbuds so loud, she didn't even need to put them back in again to hear the rest of it play out. She just sat there in the silence; long, heavy breaths flowing in and out of her pale lips.

Her head was spinning, but she didn't care. It was a good distraction from what she was trying to avoid— _to ignore_.

Once she'd heard the song softly conclude, she picked her I-pod up again and turned it off, laying it down on the small table beside her keys. She sighed now, heavier and more exhausted than before as she slowly trudged down the hallway towards the bathroom where she stood for a moment, staring at her reflection with her hands braced on either side of the wet, enamel sink.

She looked herself in the face, her round sunglasses being the only barrier between herself and her eyes. Her piercing, judgmental eyes.

She begrudgingly tapped the edge of the sink before reaching up to shut the light off. Even in the dark, she could still see herself in the mirror—looking back like a clueless, empty shell.

"It's now or never, Sunny....." She told herself before hesitantly reaching for her sunglasses and inching them off her face.

_There she was._

There was the _real_ Sunny, always hiding behind those massive, opaque things. Not that she didn't prefer it when she was hiding. _Hiding from the truth,_ that is.

The harsh reality.

Sunny gripped the shades sitting in her hands.

And there, staring back at her were those dark, gruesome eyes. Those eyes she saw in her nightmares and in every reflection she tried to avoid. 

She couldn't bear it any longer. Her own reflection, _(at least without the aid of her glasses)_ , had become the absolute bane of her existence. She tried to turn the light back on, but the moment the pale, white fluorescent filled the bathroom, she gasped—wincing her eyes shut in regret before she shoved the black opticals back over them again.

"Dammit" She mumbled to herself, trying to cloud the clear frustration in her voice with a tiny, forceful smile. Today wasn't a good day to be grumpy. "Try again tomorrow, huh?" she told her reflection, but it didn't reply. It just stared at her dumbstruck like she did. " _Yeaaaaaaah...._ " She whispered. "Tomorrow" Sunny added before offering the mirror a set of finger guns as she stomped off towards the kitchen to find something to eat tonight. She just wanted to sleep. 

_Oh_ , how Sunny craved sleep.

She would've cried for it if she could. She'd grown tired of this awful, repetitive cycle, and one of these days, she hoped it would come to an end.

A horrible, yet satisfying **_end._**


	4. The Coffee Conversation

Blood trickled from between purple lips as she drooled fractals of her chipped molars onto the grimy floor. She could hardly move her head now; eyes unable to see clearly. The world just looked so.... _red_.

 _Everything_ —— _Everything_ was red. 

Her skin, her hands, _his_ smile, her clothes, the walls, the floors; even the air had become a crimson tint. 

Blinking the stiffness from her eyes, the girl savored the sensation of ugly, red tears trickling down her sallow cheeks. It seemed to be the only thing she could feel besides the sizzling pain in her core. It was overpowering—hardly bearable; like the feeling of a chainsaw carving through your sturdy ribs before gutting your heart into a pile of mushy gore.

Oh.......... _what agony_...........what horrid, horrid _agony_.....

* * *

Sunny sat up, gasping for air as she held a feverish hand to her chest, gripping at her sweat laden shirt. She clawed at the fabric, trying to take in as much air as humanly possible before she slowly turned to stare at the alarm clock on her nightstand.

5:17 AM it read in blinding, red letters.

She cringed, falling back into the damp pillow, her black hair flaring out behind her cranium as she let a soft groan leave her lungs. It wasn't a groan of frustration, but of exhaustion. Of sickness. 

She almost considered crying, but based on her wet cheeks, she'd already done that. Sunny winced her eyes shut now, wishing they might melt into her face, never to open. She even wondered for a moment what that might be like, but she quickly swatted away the idiotic thought with a scolding look. She wouldn't live another day if she'd been unable to appreciate the world around her. 

Biting her lip, she waited till she tasted blood to let a strained whimper fall pitifully from her mouth. She turned her body to face away from her clock, trying to fall asleep again, but she couldn't. She just stared into the darkness wide awake, wishing for one fleeting moment that she might die. Such a silly thought, right?

She didn't want to of course, but it was nights like these that made death all the more appealing than life.

Sad, sad, pathetic life. Oh what a _joy_ it was. Right? 

She pulled the covers over her head now. If her eyes wouldn't close, she'd improvise. She needed sleep.

Tomorrow was a big day.

* * *

Hal's Coffee Express was probably the only place in Gotham that didn't require Sunny to wear earbuds in order to drown the obnoxious noise out. Not that it stopped her from doing so anyways, but there was nothing like listening to a little, _(or a lot of)_ Frank Sinatra on a calm morning at Hal's Coffee Express. 

Sunny leaned back in the comfortable, cushioned seat she'd chosen directly beside the Express's window. It displayed a perfect moving picture of the street outside as the vacant cement rippled with light rain. Every once in a while, she'd watch a car go rushing by, sending water slushing against the sidewalk.

It'd thundered more viscously on the way to the coffee house, but it seemed to be letting up now to her relief. Sunny loved the rain, but liked it best when she didn't have places to be.

Tapping her foot lethargically against the floor, She turned her attention from the window towards the newspaper clippings laid out on the table in front of her. They were Jim's news clippings, the ones he'd given her the other day. This was the third time he'd loaded her with a pocket of job opportunities, but it was only until today did Sunny finally decided to have a proper look at them.

She had them separated into three different piles.

No, yes, and maybe.

'No' being the largest and 'yes' being the smallest.

She sighed at this realization before turning her head back towards the window to mouth,

_"Regrets......._

_I've had a few,_

_but then again......_

_too few to mention"_.

They were the breathy lyrics of _'My Way'_ , probably one of the most cherished songs she withheld on her small, outdated I-pod. The song conveyed such deep emotion and sadness that she couldn't help but relate to it despite having little to no clue what Frank was actually singing about. Her best guess was the loss of someone he loved, but who knew? _I mean_ , she was sure someone did, but that someone definitely wasn't her. 

Stretching out her back, she slumped lazily in her chair again as she crossed her arms and stared judgingly at the job offerings.

 _What to do......_ She'd thought to herself. _Decisions, decisions, all of them wrong._

"Sunny!" a familiar voice chided in, breaking her thoughts.

Sunny turned to face them, and behold, it was the owner of the Coffee Express himself—Hal, one of her only friends.

Hal was probably the first, _(and nicest)_ , person she'd met when she'd initially moved to Gotham. The whole ordeal of their meeting had occurred at a bank for—— _intertwining reasons_ —of course.

Somewhere down the line though, he'd briefly spoken of a small coffee house he owned on the East Side of Gotham near Robinson Park. After that, him and Sunny started to regularly "run into" each other whenever she'd stop by the establishment to entertain the silence with her mousy presence. Today was no different. 

"Good morning Hal" She tiredly smiled, readjusting her sunglasses. "Slow morning?"

"Fridays are always slow" He commented before sitting down in the opposite chair. "How'd you sleep?"

Sunny rolled her eyes behind the safety of her shades. "Eh—Rough" She smirked.

Hal smiled. He wasn't oblivious to her childish eye movements, no matter how opaque she bought her sunglasses.

"Did you try exercising when you woke up? _Ya know_ —to make yourself tired again."

"Do I look like I exercise?"

"Not at all" Hal humorously grinned as he glanced down at the job clippings she was currently inspecting. " _Ah!_ " He exclaimed. "Looking for a job now, are we?"

"Hal—God— _please_. Just hire me yourself! Finding a job on my own is so harrrrd." Sunny groaned, her head lolling backwards as the soundtrack on her I-pod abruptly ended.

"No can do, _Pollito_ '' He shrugged. "I've got more than enough help laying around"

"You know I don't speak Spanish" She frowned.

"I know" He smiled. "That's why I call you that— _Vato! Trae a la amable dama la cafetera_ "

" _Por supuesto_ " One of the workers behind the counter yelled back as he came around with a coffee pot and laid it on the table beside Sunny's _'maybe'_ pile. 

"Alright, so let's hear which ones you've been considering then, huh?" He told her as he grabbed the coffee pot and refilled her mug. Sunny groaned inwardly to herself as she reached for the miniscule _'yes'_ pile and began to slowly read off the titles.

"Secretary for Hillside Conservatory, First National Bank of Gotham is hiring Tellers, Regal Hotel Cleaning Lady, & Cherry's Wai—"

"Not the last one" Hall cut in as he took it from her hand and tossed it on the table. "Cherry's is bad news"

Sunny shrugged. "Okay, how about the others though?"

Hal gave her an uncertain look as he thought it over a few times to himself. 

"Have you ever been a secretary?"

"No"

"Toss it then. Too much work for minimum wage."

Sunny placed the paper in the 'No' category, watching as he continued to look towards the ceiling in thought.

"Do you have any skills to be a teller?"

"What kind of skills would that be?"

He shrugged. "Knowing money I guess, so I'll take that as a no"

"Hey! I can count you know."

"Well—can you count— _well_?" Hal questioned with furrowed brows. Sunny hesitated, petting the leaflets of paper in her hand for a few moments as if horrified by the thought.

"Yeah I think s–"

"No." Hall interrupted. "Besides, you know how many Teller's get shot at the First National Bank of Gotham every week?"

"How many?" Sunny worriedly asked.

"Beats me, but any job that has an average kill count in the small print is an instant no. Toss it" He repeated, watching her hesitantly place the paper down with the others. "Cleaning lady for the Regal Hotel sounds promising though."

"I guess so..." Sunny echoed, twirling the paper between her fingers with furrowed brows. "I'm not very good at cleaning though"

"Anyone can clean if it means money, _Pollito_ , why not give them a call?"

"I doubt they'd answer. I heard you need a bachelor's degree just to clean the toilets alone" She smirked before sticking the number in her pocket and splaying backwards in her chair, her head hanging off the edge. "Damn—looking for a job is hard—half this stuff I'm not even qualified for"

"Mind if I take a look through the other piles?" Hal asked.

"Please; help yourself" Sunny gestured to the rest of them, watching as her friend started with the 'No' pile.

"Alright" He cleared his throat. "Gotham Highschool Janitor"

"Low pay; Wouldn't even get me through a month's worth of rent"

"Harrison Bar is looking for a Barman/Woman"

Sunny lifted her hands, displaying the slight tremor she had in them. "Hand coordination is still iffy and I haven't the first clue how to make a drink"

"Y-You!?—How could you _not_ know how to make a drink?" Hall replied, seemingly offended.

"Cause I don't drink" Sunny bluntly stated before lifting her head upright again to study him through her Lennon-Esque spectacles. 

"Lucky you" He pointed in her direction. "Stay away from that stuff and stay sober kiddo. You're better off without it"

"I'm sure— _please_ —continue"

"Barista–"

"Hand coordination"

"Right, right" Hal smiled, shifting the papers around in his hands again.

"Dog sitter?"

Sunny grimaced.

"Hate dogs"

" _Oh Dios mío. Eres un demonio._ " He muttered under his breath. "What about the 'maybe's" He questioned, setting down the 'No' pile to pick up the last one. "What's in this one? The set is pretty thick" Hal commented. "Feeling indecisive?"

"It's more so feeling unsure of whether or not I'd have a chance at getting hired" She replied, leaning against the table again to have another sip of coffee. 

Hal looked down at the pile in hand, briefing through each one with careful eyes before he eventually stopped to lift one up in particular. 

"Hillside Conservatory is looking for an on-campus Psychiatrist" He told her as if she hadn't already seen it. "Why would you consider this a maybe? This is perfect for you!"

"I don't know..." Sunny discouragingly replied as she tapped the edge of her mug with a worried expression; her hand leaning on her head.

"I thought you minored in psychology?" He questioned with raised brows.

"I did, but, _ya know_...." She paused to wave her free hand around. "I didn't actually graduate with it. I dropped out of college with one less credit for my masters in Psychology because I'd already finished my major by then."

"1 credit?" Hal repeated, seemingly amused. "Who'd know? This is perfect for you"

"Yeah, but high-schoolers are so........" She groaned inwardly to herself. " _Loud_ "

"Put up a sign" He suggested. "I mean, how bad is the whole thing, anyways?" Hal added, making circular motions beside his ear.

Sunny closed her eyes, pulling out one of the earbuds to see for herself. The ringing wasn't as loud today as it usually was. Just manageable enough. Nothing worth a migraine......again.

"Mildly loud noises are still annoying and anything louder than that starts to hurt'' She frowned before looking down at her I-pod to eye the song currently playing. Some kind of an 80s country song. She didn't usually like country music, but this song didn't seem all that bad. "Basically. It's not as bad as it—— _Initially_ was..." She cringed, trying to shake the thought from her head. It was a dreaded memory, no doubt.

She seemed to be having those increasingly often nowadays.

"Like I said" Hal shrugged, finally standing to his feet as he pushed the chair back. "It's up to you Sunny, but remember" He points to his watch. "There's only so many days you can go unemployed before you start becoming behind in your rent"

Sunny's head fell down upon the scattered job clippings, feeling her heart clench at the concept of becoming _behind_ in her housing payments. She'd never been late before and she wasn't willing to start now—or ever.

"Thanks Hal" She sighed out loud before gathering the newspaper clippings and sticking them in her pocket again. "I appreciate the advice. I think I'm going to start calling some of the numbers we picked out"

"No problem! Wanna use the phone in the back?" He offered, gesturing to the kitchen. "You don't wanna' start racking up those phone bills like your water bills. Taking damn spa nights all the time."

Sunny smiled, more than appreciative of his hospitable demeanor. She finished off her second cup of coffee and stood up with both a confident and thankful nod of agreement. 

"I'd love that, thank you!"

"It's no problem, _Pollito_ —least I can do since you cleared my name" He winked, gaining a soft but amused laugh from Sunny as she stuck her earbud back in again.

"I was just doing my job" She hummed with a small shrug. Hal rolled his eyes, surprised at her underreaction.

"Speaking of that," He quickly added, leading her towards the kitchen which smelled thickly of fresh brewing coffee; ready to make morning cups for the scarce crowd. Despite it being Sunny's favorite smell, she couldn't help but inadvertently scrunch her nose at how overpowering it seemed today. She held her wrist to her nose, trying to pay attention to where she was walking as Hal continued to talk. "What's the news on your old job? At the GCPD, I mean" He commented, catching her off guard as she reached to grab the kitchen door frame; eyes wide behind her sunglasses as she tried to find the right words.

"It's....." She paused, taking in a breath of pungent caffeine scented air. " _going_...."

"That bad, huh?" He questioned, slightly in pity as he took the land-line phone off the wall and handed it to her. "Anyways—take your time. No one here ever uses the phone so you can borrow it for as long as you need. Tell me how it goes, okay?"

"I will" Sunny thanked him as she carefully took the phone and pulled out the first number from her pocket and hesitantly dialed it. She sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the irritating coffee smell suffocating her as she waited for the phone to ring. "Here goes nothing...." She whispered.

* * *

Edward stared upon _'The Creation of Adam'_ with glossy, brown eyes; a small smile laced to his lips.

 _Truly_ , he thought to himself, tapping his mouth with his index. _Sunny's taste in art is as exquisite as she._

He couldn't help but find it strangely admirable, of course. It was so like him. So quick to get so attached to things that——— _didn't belong to him_. Classic Edward Nygma. The greatest mind easily lost in the joy of a non-reticent case of OCD.

Lazily, he tapped his shoes against the marble flooring, rocking slowly back and forth as he studied Adam's eyes for a change. 

[ _But you see his eyes?_

 _It's the wrong eye color_ ]

Edward smiled a little wider now.

[ _Even if it is a fake, I don't really mind._

 _Just as long as I get to look at it every day._ ]

Taking in a short breath, he looked down at his watch and then towards the doors of the museum. There were hardly any visitors today. He smiled at this before glancing briefly up at the fire alarm sitting above him. 

"Yes..." He mumbled under his breath before peering down at his watch again. "Yes, this'll do nicely"

* * *

"Hillside Conservatory, Rachel speaking, how may I help you?" A soft but overtly professional voice spoke from the opposite side of the phone line.

Sunny awkwardly shifted her weight between both legs, feeling her chest grow tight with worry at what to say. She hadn't done this in so many years. Not since— _well_ —that wasn't important right now.

"Hi, um, yes. This is Sunny—"

_Stupid! She doesn't know who you are. Stop babbling like an idiot and introduce yourself._

"I...I mean, I-I'm Sunny. Sunny D. Graves"

_What are you? James Bond? Say it like a normal person, fool._

"I'm here calling about your opening for a—" Sunny paused to read the paper despite not having forgotten what it said. "On-Campus Psychiatrist?"

"Oh yes!" The voice named Rachel exclaimed. "Thank goodness!" There was a pause and some subtle mumbling in the background. Something along the lines of, _'thank God we won't have to hire that freak, Felix'_. "Yes, Yes! We're so glad you called. Are you inquiring for an interview"

Sunny smiled. "That's right!"

"Oh isn't that ducky. When are you free? Miss Whittaker is open to interviewees from 9 to 8, minus 7. She eats an incredibly late lunch" 

"Is 9 really the earliest?"

Rachel paused again to drink something; the sound of muffled sipping filling the silence.

"Yes" 

Sunny immediately grinned, tapping the edge of the phone with her red fingernails.

"That's perfect, _I'll take it_ "

Rachel smirked from behind her mug. 

"Miss Whittaker will be so pleased." She noted.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH, finally. Chapter 4. I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! <3  
> Thanks for keeping up and reading, and of course, as always--don't be afraid to tell me your guys fascinating thoughts and opinions. ✨I always appreciate a good comment.


	5. All the Wrong Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL choppy writing and cruddy grammar belongs to me---the author---sending love <3 <3

Sunny stared Imogen Strohdach dead in the eyes. Those cool, blue vacant eyes.

"Sunny" She spoke, breaking the dull silence. "You're dozing off again"

The girl shook her head slightly. It'd become a nervous tick, she noticed.

_'I remember when._

_I remember, I remember when I lost my mind._

_there was something so pleasant about that place._

_even your emotions have—"_

" _Sunny._ " Imogen repeated, gesturing that her client remove one of her earbuds. 

Sunny gave a low, childish sigh as she pulled the right one out and stared Imogen in the eyes again— _tired_. She was so tired. It was like the coffee she'd drank at Hal's Express had simply evaporated the moment it entered her system.

"Yes?" She eventually replied before rubbing her sensitive eyes from beneath her sunshades.

"Sunny, why don't you take these sessions seriously?" Her therapist firmly inquired. 

Sunny remained quiet for the moment, tapping her quivering fingers against her thigh for some kind of an answer she hoped might unexpectedly fall from her mouth. While deep in thought, her mind began to wonder if Imogen knew Morse code.

_Well did she?_

No, she couldn't. She was just a therapist, and therapists didn't know Morse code.  
  


_Short tap, long tap. Long tap, short tap. Long tap, short tap. Long tap, long tap, long tap. Long tap, short tap, long tap, long tap. Short tap, short tap. Long tap, short tap. Long tap, long tap, short tap.  
  
_

"Sunny, these sessions are important to your health—" Imogen continued to speak.  
  


_Short tap, long tap, short tap, short tap. Long tap, long tap, long tap. Short tap, short tap, long tap. Long tap, short tap, short tap.  
  
_

"—To your mental health"  
  


_Short tap, short tap, short tap. Long tap. Long tap, long tap, long tap. Short tap, long tap, long tap, short tap.  
  
_

"Sunny, without these sessions, you'll only become worse. _You're sick._ "  
  


Sunny paused mid tap, her eyes flickering in shock behind her expressionless glasses. She bit her tongue now. Hard. She bit it so hard she thought she might cut it in half with her canines.

"I'm not _sick_ " She defensively hissed, feeling her chest grow tight in complete and utter dread.

Imogen shook her head, looking down at her notes again.

"That's not what the hospital thinks. That's not what _anyone_ thinks" She carefully replied, looking back up at Sunny with a sense of pity shining in her expression. The look only made Sunny feel worse. It made her feel pathetic; Insignificant. She hated it.

"What do they know?" 

"More then you, I'm afraid" Imogen countered as she glanced at her watch again. "Sunny, you don't want to be transferred to Arkham, do you?" She suddenly asked with raised brows.

Sunny felt a breath of air get stuck in her throat before she awkwardly coughed it up and looked down at her trembling hands. She wanted to hurl. Run. _Hide_. She hated the mere sound of that moronic implication. I mean, what kind of a stupid question was that? Of course she didn't want to go to Arkham! Who did? 

"No" she muttered under her breath.

"Of course not" Imogen slowly responded. "Now listen. These sessions? They're the only thing standing between you and the hospital's decision to have you transferred for more..." She paused to wave her fingers meaninglessly through the air. "Critical treatments."

 _Please stop_ , Sunny thought with narrowed eyes. _Please.....just stop_. _You're making things worse._

"Now please. _Kindly_ —Miss Graves. If the hospital doesn't start seeing some cooperation between you and I, they'll look at transferring you to a more professional kind of therapy, and I don't want that to happen to you" Imogen sighed to herself, clearly out of fatigue. "I like you Sunny, You're funny and you've been dealing with your trauma in an..... _extraordinary_ fashion." She smiled. "If it means anything to you. I don't think you're sick either, and Arkham should be the very last place on earth they should send you if trauma therapy gets you nowhere. You deserve help—real help. Help I'm trying my best to give you." Imogen paused, glaring at her watch. "I only wish to see you flourish, Miss Sunny. These have been hard times, and in your case....your situation is by far the most detrimental I've seen yet."

Sunny clicked her tongue impatiently as she angled her head once more to watch the floating pieces of lint glide past the window. She couldn't bear to listen any longer.

"You're not a normal victim of trauma, Miss Sunny" Imogen frowned, seeing as her client was once again attempting to doze off. "And the fact of the matter is—"

Sunny grimaced now, her brows furrowed in horror.

"—You're not normal either. _Not anymore_ "

* * *

"Sunny D. Graves? Fancy meeting you here."

"Hello Gordon!" Sunny smiled as she leaned against his and Bullock's desk, but to her surprise, Bullock was nowhere in sight. "Having an eventful day at work?"

"No less eventful as every other day. How have you been?" He asked, looking down at the folders covering his work space.

"Oh ya know. The usual," She shrugged, gliding a hand through her tousled, short hair. "It's going like it's going"

Gordon paused to smile as he looked up at her. "That's good news! I'm glad to hear life hasn't put any dampers on your daily routine"

"Oh _yeaaaaah..._ About that!" She grinned, her legs rocking back and forth against the desk. "I have some good news for you!"

"Shoot"

"Hilarious play on words" Sunny remarked, rolling her eyes as she paused to stare out a nearby window. Sunlight was pouring into the GCPD's every nook and cranny, indicating that despite this morning's rain, it was going to be a beautiful day. I mean, that _is_ how the saying goes, isn't it? _The sky is most beautiful after a storm._ Something like that?

She wondered for a moment if she might go to the beach today instead. She told herself she would yesterday, but the plan fell short last minute, _per usual_. But if not today, then someday she might go. Eventually at least...

"I'm going in tomorrow for a job interview" She finally told him, turning her head to watch his face light up with glee.

"Really!?" He exclaimed, obviously taken aback by the casual statement. "You got a job?"

"Not yet, but hopefully!" She replied before watching Bullock come up behind him and walk towards his desk.

"So you finally did it?" Bullock interrupted them both, sitting down at the table opposite of Sunny's left side. "Son of a bitch finally did it. You got a job!" He smiled, clapping his hands slightly with amusement. "Good for you, Graves! Up and over, right?"

"Don't call me that" She replied, snark with humor.

"Yeah, yeah, but for real!" Bullock grinned as he briefly leaned over to pat her proudly on the shoulder. "This calls for a celebration!"

"I haven't even gotten the job yet?"

"Doesn't matter," Gordon added in with a smile of his own. "What matters is you're looking, and hopefully, we'll have reason to celebrate a successful interview"

Sunny let out a sigh, a cheerful look gleaming in her face as she slowly looked down at her black loafers—scuffed from consistent use.

"Thank you guys" She finally said, the corner of her mouth quirked up. "You guys have been so kind to me. I'll make sure to give it a good thought, but I'll have catch you later" 

"Where' you going?" Bullock quickly asked her with curious eyes. "You just got here?"

"Ya know," Sunny shrugged, raising her hands in defense. "Gotta get some errands done—"

"Sunny!" 

The girl paused, her lashes fluttering as she looked at Gordon mid step down the stairs; her eyes pinned to his face. He looked so pleased for once. It was such a strange but hopeful sight to see him happy. 

"Take care of yourself, okay?" He finally told her.

Sunny laughed, loud and musical into the air before she turned to give him an expression of ultimate admiration. 

"I sure will Gordon. " She confidently announced. " _I sure will!_ "

* * *

The hours stretched on like endless train cars, going by one after the other as you stand at the tracks, wondering when they'll come to an end. Sunny stood at those tracks, and finally, they came to an end as she found herself once again walking through the doors of the Gotham Museum of art and History. Per usual, she hoped to seek a silent sanctuary, but to her estranged surprise, _once again_ , something was different.

The museum's art gallery was full of members of the press. Interviewers, Reporters, photographers, journalists etc. etc. The list goes on.

Sunny hurriedly pushed both earbuds in and began to blast the first song she found to overpower the noise of the crowd.

_'Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better'_

"George" She deafly spoke to him, seeing as he was standing at his post per usual at this time. Surely this meant her wrist watch wasn't incorrect. It was definitely 8 at night. The museum's usual quiet hours; though, seemingly broken tonight for an unknown reason. "What's going on? Why's it so busy today?" She questioned.

George furrowed his brows, looking at her somewhat surprised. "You don't know?" He asked. "You haven't heard? One of the paintings has been stolen."

Sunny's mouth immediately fell open, a gasp leaving her lips at the horrifying news. _An art piece stolen?_ How could this happen! Had security not been doing their job like they were supposed to?

Turning without another word, she hurriedly entered the art gallery, pushing her way through the crowd to see where all their attention was directed. She _had_ to know.

As she walked amongst them, all worry about losing her footing was gone from her head as she pushed her way through the dense congregation of noisy reporters. She'd almost made it to the clearing too when a photographer had stepped directly beside her and flashed his camera. She stood dazed, like one of the many statues in the art exhibit, almost tipping over when a quick arm frantically reached out to steady her.

She flinched at the sudden contact before looking up to see who it was. Recognition instantly dawned on her face

"Edward?" She daftly spoke, surprised to see him again.

"Sunny! Please," He paused to fix his glasses. "Ed is just fine. Are you alright? You looked like you were about to trip?" He asked her, his eyes flickering with subtle worry. 

"Yes, yes, I'm fine" She mumbled, closing her eyes and lifting an odd hand to her head. It was starting to hurt from all the lights and sounds. "Did you hear?"

"That one of the paintings was stolen" He factually finished. "I did. Such a pity" 

"Do you know which?" 

Edward seemed to cringe at the question, watching as she slowly pulled her arm from his hand and attempted to steady herself on her own.

"Yes..." He slowly replied, a little disappointed. "I'm afraid someone has stolen _'The Creation of Adam'_ " He apologetically told her. "I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved that one."

Just as he'd expected, her face gradually filled with misery as she stepped back, a bit unbelieving. The timing of it's theft was almost ironic as her mouth twisted in anger.

"Damn" She muttered to herself before turning the other direction and striding out of the crowd.

Going to see the root of all the fuss was a waste of time at this point. Having to force herself to look upon the empty wall where _'The Creation of Adam'_ once sat would only be a greater damper on her mood, and she couldn't deal with this right now.

_'Hey Jude, don't let me down_

_She has found you, now go and get her_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better'_

"Sunny!" Ed had suddenly called out again, catching her just before she could make it to the door. "I...uh. I'm terribly sorry about the painting." He told her with a reassuring smile. "Chin up though. Maybe someone will find it." 

Sunny smiled, nodding her head in agreement. 

"Thank you Ed" She replied before looking up to meet his eyes. Rich, brown pools of color shining with genuine concern. The look briefly caught her off guard. _Concern_. Everyone seemed so concerned for her all the time, but his? She hardly knew him but it was like staring into the eyes of a life-long friend. "Thank you..." She'd mindlessly repeated, before shaking her head and replacing the dazed look in her face with a humorous grin. "I hope whoever has it now will be very happy with it" 

"That's very thoughtful of you!" He commented, looking down through her glossy sunglasses. 

_Fascinating_ , he'd thought to himself. There wasn't an ounce of sun in the sky yet she still insisted on wearing the exact same pair of shades he'd previously met her in. _Why the shades all the time? Why not take them off?_

"Coffee?" He suddenly asked her, watching as she raised a brow.

"It's 8 o'clock?"

"I prefer to stay up during the later hours of the night, working" He admitted with a small shrug. "And if you don't mind me saying so; you seem to give off a similar cadence"

Sunny smiled, broad and surprised.

"You'd be right" She thoughtfully responded.

It was Ed's turn to smile now, his teeth a milky white under the fluorescents shining above them. Sunny had never seen such a genuine show of verve.

"I know a place not very far from here" He continued to tell her. "They stay open 24 hours. I think you'd like it"

For a moment, Sunny studied him with furrowed brows. This was all very strange to her. She'd never had someone as unfamiliar as him ask her to coffee unprompted. They hardly knew each other and she'd barely spoken to him the other day. It was surprising enough that she ran into him unexpectedly, but now he was asking her to coffee? Surely the world was losing its mind.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she looked down at her feet. 

"That's a very kind offer Edward—"

"Ed" He quickly reminded her.

"Right! Ed." She paused to glance outside and then down at her watch. "It's a very kind offer, Ed, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to entertain your company for very long. I tend to give myself a 9:30 curfew. I don't particularly like staying out very late." She tried to explain, watching his grin slightly falter.

"No, no, that's alright" He jumped in. "No need. I understand the importance of a pattern in one's day to day life-style. I tend to work by one myself" He admitted with a slight tilt of his head. It was an endearing gesture. "I noticed you don't have a car though. Do you walk everywhere in Gotham?"

Sunny rocked on her feet, hands behind her back now. "Sometimes. Depending how far, _of course_. Most of the time I'd just take a bus if I'm feeling tired, but I enjoy the exercise"

"I could drive you home, If you'd like–"

"No need" Sunny cut in, her eyes flashing with a sense of emergency behind the safety of her dark spectacles. Her voice had cracked, and suddenly, she was lost in a thought. A horrible one.

 _The awful grin. Those dead eyes. Those grim black goggles._ _The pain he caused her_. It knocked on the back of her cranium like knuckles on a door.

Edward seemed to sense the strange change in her demeanor as he marginally leaned down, trying to study her through her sunglasses. It was impossible though. They acted like a wall between him and her facial expressions that gave away any hint to what she was thinking about.

He didn't need to though. Sunny felt very guilty all of a sudden for being so quick to turn him down. She knew he meant well, and abruptly turning him away just seemed so damn rude of her. She hadn't meant to be.

 _He didn't mean any harm, you idiot. He was just trying to be nice. Now for God sakes, stop acting so rude and apologize_ , she'd thought before hurriedly reaching into her pocket and pulling out one of the rejected newspaper clippings she had stashed away in it. 

"Do you have a pen?" She quickly asked him.

Edward looked down at her, surprised by the request as he slowly pulled one out of his jacket. Gingerly, he held it out to her, watching as she took it and began to scribble something down on the jagged, snippet of paper. 

Once done, she handed them back; both the paper and pen.

"That's, uh. That's my number!" She smiled, rubbing the back of her neck as her eyes darted to watch a look of pure delight glower in Edward's soft expression.

"Oh my" He'd accidentally mumbled out loud. "I mean—Thank you!" He told her, quickly stashing the pen back in his coat. "Thank you very much! Does this mean you'll still consider my proposition for midnight coffee, another night?" He joked, though internally and _entirely_ serious. 

Sunny grinned at this, an innocent flush creeping up on her face. 

"I'd love to"

* * *

It felt like hours before Sunny finally made it back home again to complete the final stage of the same old routine.

Wake up, go out, run meaningless errands, go to the museum, and then come home. But for an awful moment, she wondered if this meant she might grow tired of it one day. This routine. This practice. This cultish, repetitive pattern. One part of her said she _wished_ it would, but the other side said familiarity was her friend. 

She hated being confused like this.

Pushing open the doors of her apartment, she set her keys aside and wondered in to find that, like always, she was exhausted from the day. Her body was tired from top to bottom; nothing but burden and ache.

Sunny stretched her spine, letting out a low and strained yawn before closing and locking the door behind her, per _cultish, repetitive pattern._ She let habit take her aside as she wondered into the empty living space in the middle of her room, ready to reach for her I-Pod when something. . . _odd_ caught her off guard.

Something was different.

Something was.................. _very_ different.

Sunny blinked the dead stare from her eyes and hesitantly raised her head to meet sight of the one thing that hadn't been here when she left this morning.

It was. . . . . . . . . . . . _a painting?_ It hung on the formerly vacant wall space just above her couch—priceless and untouched—like it'd been there all this time and she'd only just noticed it now. 

A gasp lodged itself in her throat and she was speechless.

Sunny pulled her earbuds out, allowing them to drag across the floor as she slowly approached the painting. And like an easily recognizable face, she knew it anywhere.

"Oh my God..." She croaked.

It was _'The Creation of Adam'_! 

It was in _her_ apartment, in _her_ living room, hanging on _her_ wall. Thee, 'Creation of Adam'. The closest forgery she'd ever get to seeing the real one up close, and for a single moment, it was as if oxygen no longer existed, the floor was no more, and her heart was attempting to mimic the tempo of 'Flight of the Bumblebee' because for that single, fleeting moment, reality had become too good to be true. And too strange to understand. 

Her jaw remained hinged in absolute, utter disbelief as her hands hung uselessly at her sides. Was she finally dead? Was this real? There was no way. No way on heaven or earth. . . . yet. . . . _there it was_. In all of it's pristine, forged glory.

Sunny reached out to pet the golden frame with delicate fingers, but stopped midpoint when her eyes caught sight of something loosely hanging from the bottom of the picture. _A note?_

She took the carefully placed parchment between her hands to examine it further, but her astonishment and confusion only grew. The piece of paper had no name, no address, no initials—just a picture. A small, seemingly insignificant symbol that resembled no true meaning to her. And the symbol?  
  
  
  


_A neon green question mark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually sips my tea* I hope you all are clueless :)
> 
> S L A P P kudos, and leave a comment, or no tea for you.
> 
> (Inner me: you can't threaten people to leave comments. That shows desperation)  
> (Me: Brave of you to assume I'm not)


	6. Success is Often Uncounted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come to accept that this Fanfic is turning into something a little more casual and unplanned.  
> No bother.  
> All choppy, confusing, bad-writing belongs to moi. Thank you! <3  
> Enjoy lovelies.  
> (unedited 3/10/2021)

Light filtered through the window shade slits like holographic binary. Coming and going in random patterns—never really making much sense. The hum of a car would always follow each passing stream of light, and if the weather had been particularly sad that day, he'd hear water slosh down the drain pipes too.  
The air was mildly humid, almost uncomfortable, but thankfully the apartment was still thick with a chill due to the lack of heating. The cold kept the mugginess away for the most part, but it never made living here pleasant.

Sitting up in his bed, Jim rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch sitting on his bedside table.

5:17 AM it read.

He reached over and picked it up, gliding his thumb over the glass a few times to make sure it was still ticking.

He sighed now, placing the watch back in its place before he slowly left his bed and went to get changed for the day. No doubt the GCPD would have lots of work waiting for him. It always did. Every hour of every day, there was always work to be done. He called it a job, but often others made him question if it was more of a drug. An addiction. 

He'd had these thoughts before; _many_ times before, but no matter what he did or said, nothing seemed to convince him otherwise. His work was his life and soul. It's what kept him waking up and it's what put him to sleep. Sometimes literally in both senses.

Jim stared at himself in the mirror now; tired, but awake. He ran the cold water in the sink for a few minutes, splashing his face with the chilled liquid before drying it off and studying, _not his face this time_ , but his eyes.

He stared deep into their centers. Bottomless dots of black.

It was time to get to work.

* * *

Sunny fidgeted awkwardly in her chair, hoping to God no one would notice the small snags in her black stockings.

The time finally arrived, and as she had planned, 9 AM at Hillside Conservatory. Ready for the first interview she'd had in a long time—or, well—the first interview she'd had in approximately a year.

She clutched the resume to her frantically pulsing chest, wondering for an awful second if she might faint.  
If not for the Elton John blaring in her earbuds, that might've been the case, _but oh_ , Elton never failed to calm her restless nerves. Today, he reminded her,

_'Don't you know_

_I'm still standing better than I ever did!_

_Looking like a true survivor,_

_feeling like a little kid'_

Sunny tapped her fingers against the back of the resume's manila sleeve, anxiously humming the tune under her breath as her eyes narrowed behind her dark spectacles. For once, she was lucky to have them hiding the clear look of fraudulence shamefully gleaming in her face.

 _You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist. You're not a psychologist,_ she continued to remind herself.

"Sunny D. Graves?" Rachel called from behind her freakishly neat desk. "Miss Whittaker will see you now"

_Damnit Sunny, You're not a psychologist!_

"Thank you!" Sunny smiled in return as she stood and gracefully strode towards the office in the back, her teeth clenched in worry as she drew near. They were wide open like loving arms, but massive like judgmental giants. She swore if the wood they were made of could speak, they'd know her secret.

"Miss Graves, I presume?" A cold voice spoke from the large velvet seat.

Sunny realized she'd been staring down at her shoes and quickly turned her eyes to meet Miss Whittaker herself. Least to say, she wasn't what she'd been expecting. At all.

She was a woman of slender stature and starch white hair; clearly fake. Her nails were as long as pencils, painted a dull, miserable black, but her smile? Her smile was by far the most shocking thing to look at. Not because it was beautiful or threatening or forceful, but because it was gold; entirely gold. Miss Whittaker's mouth was filled with gold teeth.  
"Staring is rude you know. Is there something wrong?"

_You freak, stop staring. If you weren't wearing those ridiculous sunglasses, everyone would have a reason to stare at you too._

"No, no, I apologize if I was staring, Miss Whittaker" Sunny quickly replied as she approached the desk, her resume held out to the luxuriously dressed woman. Miss Whittaker had to be no older then 30, but her demeanor spoke that of a 50 year-old, three times divorced millionaire widow. It was both strange and intriguing. 

Miss Whittaker took the resume between her talons and began to read it, her eyes tearing every word like a hatchet to lumber. 50 year-old, three times divorced millionaire widow or not, it was obvious she took her job as the principal _very_ seriously. 

"They're 24 karrot gold, if you were curious" The woman mindlessly told her, eyes still working their way down each paragraph.

Sunny blinked her eyes, surprised by the sudden comment. 

" _Oh._ " She said.

"As a child, I got in an accident—a car accident—and all my front teeth were either knocked out or broken" Miss Whittaker casually continued before placing the resume aside and looking Sunny straight in the eyes as if there were no sunglasses to stand between them. "I was traumatized. My family couldn't afford to get me implants, _or heavens_ , even dentures. I looked like a fool" She calmly stated.

Sunny furrowed her brows, unsure of where this was going.

"Eventually, I made my way up in the world, so much so, that I had the ability to replace my nonexistent smile with one entirely made of gold. Do you know why, Sunny D. Graves?"

Sunny carefully raised her shoulders to shrug.

"Because!" Whittaker carefully announced. "My smile would speak volumes about who I am, what I am, and what I've done. So tell me, Sunny _D._ Graves" She paused to lean in, allowing the silence to carry on for an uncomfortable amount of time. "How does a Monday through Thursday schedule sound for you?"

"I'm. . .sorry?" Sunny choked, surprised by the sudden question. "Would you mind—"

"Skip the pleasantries, Miss Graves, you got the job"

"I. . . _did?_ "

"Yeah, why not" Miss Whittaker shrugged. "I like you. You're perfect"

"But I. . . . .I hardly even spoke. How did you even—"

"Know I wanted to hire you so quickly? Easy" She shrugged again. "I _deduced_ it"

Sunny opened her mouth to talk, but she was certain Miss Whittaker would only interrupt her again.

"Do you know what Deduction is, Sunny _D._ Graves?"

"I. . . uhhh," Sunny hesitated and fixed her glasses. Yet another nervous tick. "Like that thing Sherlock Holmes does?"

"I'll take that as a _no_ " Whittaker smiled. "Deduction is the method of studying a bigger picture and slowly by slowly taking away from it until you are left with a simple image; a simple answer. On the other hand, Induction is the method of looking at one small detail and trying to pin it to a bigger picture. See what I'm getting at here?"

Sunny internally cringed, hating to confess the words she was about to say.

"I'm afraid not" She awkwardly admitted, eyes darting to the floor.

Whittaker only smiled again as she daintily folded her hands under her chin and studied Sunny more carefully. 

"Are those medically-required sunglasses?" She suddenly asked her, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "If so, they're incredibly stylistic! Is thou a Jon Lennon fan?"

Sunny took in a short breath. "I, _uh_ , yeah. That's right! How did you know?"

"That they were medical sunglasses or that you were a Jon Lennon fan?"

"Both. . .?"

Miss Whittaker's smile only seemed to grow wider. She leaned in for a second time, close enough for Sunny to note what color her eyes were. They were hazel.

"You're sitting here for an interview, right?" 

"Yes"

"Well, based on your initial introduction, facial expressions, and overall demeanor, you obviously want—oh right, excuse me—correction— _wanted_ , this job very badly, right?"

"Yes, that's right"

"Well then, we all know that wearing sunglasses to an interview is improper behavior, but based on your feverish desire to make a good impression, that's the last thing you would want to do," She paused to grin even wider, (if that was physically possible). "Conclusion— _my favorite word_ —they must be medically required sunglasses or just very, very important to you"

Sunny stared dumbstruck as awe transformed her face.

"Wow..." She mumbled in surprised. "So. . .basically like Sherlock Holmes then?"

Miss Whittaker laughed this time, her tone bold and powerful as if she were unafraid to be considered obnoxious or haughty.

"Sure, Sunny _D._ Graves" The woman replied, her ruby red lips pursed. "Like Sherlock Holmes" She paused to stand to her feet, outstretching her open palm. "Welcome to Hillside Conservatory. We're so happy to have you here"

* * *

"Gordon?" Bullock called with raised brows as he watched his partner march through the doors of the GCPD with a tired expression heavy in his face. "I wasn't expecting you here for another few hours. What are you doing here?" He questioned with a suspicious tone.

"Felt like coming in early today." Gordon briefly smiled as he unbuttoned his blazer and strode towards his desk like usual. "What's the status quota for today?"

Bullock smirked with amuse as he wandered towards his own desk, a pile of files already cluttering the table-top. He pulled his chair back and sat down.

"Ya know, you don't have to come in for another 2 hours." He thoughtfully commented. "You look rough. Why not head home and get some more sleep?"

"I'm fine, Harvey." Jim briskly reassured before sitting down and glancing at the disarray of papers on his partners desk. "Just tell me what to do."

Bullock raised his hands in defeat. "It's your sleep schedule you're screwing up, by all means---"

"Harvey."

"Fine, Fine." He joked before groping for one of the files and tossing it towards Gordon. To his surprise, the manila folder was as thin as a hair. "Someone robbed the Gotham Museum of Art and History last night. Thief stole a painting."

"An _art_ robbery?" Jim retorted.

"It's a slow day, okay." Bullock quickly explained. "We should color ourselves lucky any-how. Chasing around homicidal maniacs and gun-obsessed thugs was _not_ something I was looking forward to today"

" _Oh?_ " Gordon mindlessly sounded as he opened the file to examine it further.

"The other day, we got the hang on these two cat thieves, but one of them jabbed me in the leg before we could arrest them. Muscle's been burning like hell, nonstop" Bullock replied, watching his partner carefully study the miniscule report.

"'The Creation of Adam, huh?"

"Museum says it was a classic," Bullock informed. "It was one of their best pieces, but at around 7, almost 8 in the morning, all the security cameras went out and the fire alarms were set off. There wasn't a lot of business and the two security guards were off duty or somethin' like that. No witnesses, so the thief literally took the whole damn thing and walked off like that"

"How could there be no witnesses?" Gordon replied, dumbstruck. "You're telling me no one noticed some guy walk out of a Museum with a yard and a half long painting?"

Bullock shrugged, just as confused.

"I don't know anymore then you do, Pal"

Gordon sighed, closing the file as he stood to his feet and rebuttoned his blazer, indicating that he was ready to leave.

"Feel like taking a visit to the museum?"

"Why not" 

* * *

Gordon examined the empty wall where 'The Creation of Adam' had once hung, now barren and depressed by it's lack of a painting. He rubbed his cheek in thought, carefully looking around for any clues as to what might've happened, but to his disappointment, there was hardly a scuff on the floor. This wasn't just a petty art theft. This was a professional---someone who clearly knew what they were doing.

"Anything?" Bullock asked as he walked to Jim's side, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

Jim sighed, clearly in displeasure. It wasn't often he admitted to being clueless. 

"No. Nothing," He replied, turning to face him. "But to be fair, I don't think this is a theft worthy of extensive investigating. Just a normal art theft."

"You could be right." Harvey shrugged. "What are there? Like four, five museums in Gotham."

"Six I think"

"Either way. We'll file a missing, _er_ , stolen property file and see if it ends up in anyone's hands"

"Guess so." Jim mumbled, still staring at the wall with narrowed eyes. He couldn't imagine a stranger way for his day to begin, and it was always cases like these that left him with a heavy feeling on his shoulders. Finding a missing person tended to be an easier job in Gotham since everyone was a bit nosey, but finding missing property was a whole other story. In a city like this, it was finders-keepers. You couldn't hurt or kill a painting, so it was likely no bystanders would have cared if someone stole it.

"Jim! Harvey!" the voice broke his thoughts, and both men turned to see Sunny jogging up the corridor towards them. Her face seemed more bright then usual, indicating she had pleasant news to share no doubt. "Someone at the department told me I could find you two here! Are you investigating the stolen painting? 'The Creation of Adam'?"

"That's right" Harvey replied as he yawned slightly. "But as much evidence as we have, we think it's a dead case"

" _Oh._ " She awkwardly replied, unsure of what to say. It had suddenly occurred to Sunny that she had no way of properly conveying that _she,_ in fact, had 'The Creation of Adam' in her own apartment. I mean, the idea of trying to explain that some unknown stranger had broken into her apartment and left it as some kind of a 'gift?' felt all too absurd. Even _she_ had a hard time believing that, and this was Gotham for crying out loud. Anything can happen in Gotham, but getting herself coiled up with the GCPD didn't exactly sound like her cup of tea at the moment.

Too much paper work, and noise, and questioning, and worrying.

"So why did you want to see us?" Jim asked her. 

Sunny quickly smiled, swinging her unused ear-buds between her fingers.

"I got the job!"

" _Holy_ —" Harvey choked on his exclamation. "Sunny! That's _amazing_ news!"

It was Jim's turn now to be surprised.

Leaning over, he patted her gently on the shoulder as a more then proud smile slipped into his expression.

"Sunny, that's amazing. I can't believe you finally did it!"

"Me too" She laughed.

"You know what this means, right?" Harvey grinned as he rubbed his hands fiendishly together. "This means drinks are on me tonight, cause this calls for a celebration."

"Gabriel's Horn?" Sunny asked with raised brows.

Jim and Harvey both laughed in unison, Harvey being the one to cross his arms in smug satisfaction.

"Naturally" He replied.

* * *

"I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight"

"Felt like dropping in for a drink" Ed smiled as he casually leaned on the bar stool and eyed Penguin who stared at him suspiciously down the row. He only sat a seat away, but with as much intense eye-contact as they were sharing, it felt like he was inches from his face. 

"You know I don't entirely fancy your company here, right?"

"Obviously" Ed smirked. "But you're the only one who sells 'Rubrum Syreni' within a 2 mile radius of me"

"Hilarious" Penguin smiled, clearly sarcastic. "How's your— _oh_ —what did you call that again? A fascination? An experiment?"

"Swimmingly, thank you." Ed calmly announced. "I think we're making real progress. I just finished-" He stopped mid-sentence, realizing that if he told Penguin he'd stolen 'The Creation of Adam', he would most likely rat him out with it. "I just finished," He started again. "by gifting her something. I think she'll really like it."

Penguin scoffed. 

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Art"

"Art?" He repeated, unimpressed. "You gave her art?"

"Yes"

"That's it?"

"She likes art." Ed told him with furrowed brows. "I assure you it was an acceptable gift"

" _Oh._ " Oswald flatly mumbled in reply. "She doesn't sound like your usual type."

"Excuse me?" 

"Oh ya know," He continued to ramble, swaying his hand through the air. "I always assumed you were the type to prefer scholarly girls, over un-achieving artistic nobodies. Chestnut hair, glasses, preferably booky kind of girls."

Ed's eyes narrowed to slits. "That was _just_ a coincidence" 

"Don't you think you'll get bored of her though? I mean, what do the two of you actually share in common?" Penguin mischievously grinned. "I don't mean to be intrusive, _of course_ , but you've never rubbed me as the 'artsy' type, Edward."

"I don't see how that's any of your concern."

"Ah! _See!_ " Oswald brightly pointed out. "You always come here to gloat Edward. You're so predictable, but the moment I point out a flaw in your great equation of _'romance_ '" He spat. "You suddenly get all defensive. Even _you_ think this is a lost cause, but tell me! What was it? The pretty face? The subtle cleverness? The fact she didn't immediately pin you as an obsessives freak." 

Ed smirked, sipping his glass of alcohol. 

"Says the one who killed my one true love out of blind jealousy and had the audacity to come back."

"I already told you I was sorry" Penguin snapped.

"And you think that's enough?" Edward bemusedly hissed as he turned to face him now. "You think you can just say one worthless, little word, and that'll fix everything? That I'll suddenly put the past in the past and move on?" He seethed between his teeth. "You _killed_ Isabella. And when you killed her, you killed a part of me."

Penguin rolled his eyes.

"You sound so sentimental." He brashly commented. "I get what this is now. This isn't an experiment or fascination. You miss her. You miss Isabelle."

" _Isabella!_ "

"Whatever. You're just allowing yourself to become emotionally exposed to a girl you just met because you miss her. This is just you rebounding off of Isabella's death."

"That's not true!"

"Maybe, but let's be honest here, Edward." Penguin smiled from behind his margarita. "How long do you think this little fantasy of yours is _actually_ going to last? This pointless hope that you'll find someone like Isabelle again? Because I promise you this, you won't."

"Goodnight, Oswald" Ed bluntly told him as he placed his emptied glass aside. "It was good seeing you."

"As to you." He laughed to himself, listening to his 'friend', or whatever Penguin considered him, leave. "Oh, poor, poor Edward." He mumbled now, lifting his glass to his lips to finish it off. "She'll be dead by the end of the month."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say, is oh boyo.  
> and THANK YOU KINDLY FOR READING!


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